


Nice Work, Kiddo

by booksnchocolate



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Atlas CEO Rhys, Gen, Kinda, M/M, Minor Character Death, he's ~evilish in this anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 00:30:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5647351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksnchocolate/pseuds/booksnchocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have ten seconds to convince me you should live.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice Work, Kiddo

**Author's Note:**

> First thing I've written for TFTB since falling headfirst into the fandom and the game a few weeks ago. Just a short little piece. Concrit is always lovely.

“You have ten seconds to convince me you should live.”

Rhys glances down at the peon beneath him as the man’s piteous whimpers fill the room. 

“The- the designs,” he gasps, trembling visibly in the chair, “they’re not - they need to be recalibrated, the schematics didn’t account for the initial thrust, the processors overheated-”

Rhys looks at the vintage clock on his desk. “Seven seconds.”

The man mops his brow with a shaking hand. His voice wavers, hideously close to tears. A small voice in the back of his mind tells Rhys that pity would be an adequate emotion to feel in this situation; but looking at the snivelling excuse for a human being in front of him, Rhys can summon nothing of the sort. He stalks around to the front of his desk and leans casually against it, soaking in the way the man shrinks back as Rhys approaches. 

“Well?”

“I - I - I - I don’t know what you want, the - reworking the design is a process that we can’t simply skip. Please, if you let me go we can start on it right away, have new prototypes by next week-”

“You, you, you,” Rhys mocks with a singsong voice and a flinty smile. “If I wanted the prototypes delivered next week, I’d have said so. Now we’re out a shipment and I am,” he pauses, clenching and unclenching his mechanical fist, “disappointed.”

“Please, sir-”

“Time’s up,” Rhys says coolly and pushes himself away from the desk, stepping toward the man with deliberate footfalls. He reaches out with his mechanical arm. “Your spiel wasn’t very… convincing.”

The man screams, once, a high-pitched gurgling sound abruptly cut off by Rhys’ metal fingers closing around his windpipe. He squeezes til his fingers meet around the mangled remains of the man’s neck and the life flickers from his eyes. 

It’s over in seconds. 3.8, to be exact, and Rhys buffs his nails on his lapel as he lets the body fall to the floor. “Not bad.” 

He flicks open the ECHO interface on his cybernetic palm, barks out a terse “Janitorial to my office” and closes it with a snap. 

Striding to the windows, Rhys lets the distant glow of Pandora’s sun wash over him. If he closes his eyes, he can almost feel the warmth of the light. Almost. Opening his eyes, his gaze is caught by the reflection in the glass. For a split second, his cybernetic eye burns blue and a voice echoes in his head.

“Nice job, kiddo.” 


End file.
